


Feels Like Falling

by isnt_it_pretty



Series: All We've Lost in the Fight to Protect it [2]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arram realizes that bi is a thing, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isnt_it_pretty/pseuds/isnt_it_pretty
Summary: Midwinter and approaching, and Arram is struggling to find a gift for a specific friend.-Also known as Arram realizes that bi is a thing and oh no, he might have a crush.
Relationships: Numair Salmalín/Thom of Trebond
Series: All We've Lost in the Fight to Protect it [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025067
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Feels Like Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Lets play a game called Throw Random Words Together Until it Sounds Like a Possible Academic Book. 
> 
> So for a bit of context, this takes place in early December of 441, two years and a half years after the events of Lioness Rampant. Thom is 22, Numair is 16, turning 17 in Feburary (he has no canon birthdate so I made it up). 
> 
> Believe me, figuring out a timeline for this series took way too much effort. I'm bad at math so trying to keep ages and dates in relation to other events and characters was insane for me.
> 
> Hit me up on tumbr @ isnt-it-pretty.tumblr.com
> 
> Huge thank you to my beta reader who editted most of this, aside from one section which I did myself (I'm sure you'll spot it). All mistakes are my own.

Midwinter was approaching. Arram had already bought gifts for Varrice and Orzone, along with some of his teachers, but one person in particular eluded him.

Thom was practically a recluse. He made the odd appearance out of his rooms, and his door was always open - albeit reluctantly - to anybody who needed him, but he hardly wanted for anything. It made gift giving difficult.

Arram groaned. He was  _ supposed _ to be studying for his examinations, but his mind was filled with worries and thoughts of Thom. Usually he’d be in the other man’s rooms at this time, sitting on his sofa and studying away where it was quiet. Thom would often be working on his own projects, and more recently in the last few months, would just rest and allow Arram to be in his space. It was nice. There were still days though - like today - where Thom was ill enough that it was easier just to leave him be. Arram had been there earlier, and managed to cajole Thom into resting instead of trying to work through an excruciating migraine.

Pushing his papers away, Arram pulled out a small journal. It was what he used to take notes for things that weren’t school related - like appointments or lists. In this case, it held his list of gifts.

He scratched a line through Master Ramasu’s name, having already gotten the gift for him. It was just Thom who remained. 

The thought of Ramasu stilled his mind though. Perhaps there was something Thom could use after all. Abandoning his work, Arram took his notebook to see the Master.

* * *

Ramasu may not be Arram’s teacher anymore — he hadn’t been since Arram had become a war mage, rather than a healer — but they were still close. It was hard not to be, after spending so many hours in one on one teaching. Ramasu was one of the professors Arram trusted implicitly.

He was beginning to regret that choice.

Ramasu stood in front of him, no longer the towering form from the years previous. “Pain relief varies greatly, depending on the type,” Ramasu said, his eyebrows raised in silent question. “Acute pain after an injury or surgical procedure is different from migraines, or chronic pain. They can have some overlap, but in general different things will be more or less beneficial long term. Can you elaborate on the condition of this friend of yours?”

Arram could feel himself turning red, although he wasn’t exactly sure why. “Well, he gets headaches and is sick a lot, and is in pain all the time. I’m not sure what caused it, but I know it’s been like this for awhile.”

It felt a little wrong to discuss Thom’s condition with one of his coworkers, although Thom likely didn’t interact with Ramasu very often. Ramasu was a teacher who rarely participated in research, while Thom was the opposite.

Unfortunately, that explanation did nothing to stem Ramasu’s curiosity. Instead it grew into something similar to concern. “Arram,” he began, and Arram knew he was in for some sort of serious conversation. “If His Highness or Tristan is struggling with chronic pain, it’s important that you tell me.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised that Ramasu assumed it was one of them. After all, Arram wasn’t known to have many friends. It was a little depressing when he thought about it, but Arram had long since made peace with that. Besides, Orzone was great — so long as he wasn’t talking about ruling Carthak, or the Siraj people — and Varice was the best. He still wasn’t all that close to Tristan or Gissa, but they were nice enough too.

“It’s somebody else,” Arram answered. He understood why Ramasu was curious, but it was making him nervous.

“A small bag full of dried rice is often helpful,” Ramasu told him. “It can be warmed over a source of heat, or cooled in a cold box. There is also a small shop in the Upper District that I recommend. The owner is a friend of mine, she makes medicines and herbal remedies — some of them are enhanced with her Gift.”

It was a good place to start, he could look around, maybe ask some questions. It would be perfect. “I’ll be sure to check there. Thank you so much Ramasu,” Arram said, smiling.

“Arram,” Ramasu said before he could leave. “One more thing before you go.”

Arram turned a questioning gaze upon the master. His stomach was full of butterflies — he couldn’t wait to begin putting Thom’s gift together. “Yes Ramasu?”

“Is everything alright?” his once teacher asked. 

The question threw him for a loop. “Yes. Why do you ask?” Arram tried to think back through all of his recent lessons, especially those with the masters he knew were friends with Ramasu. He couldn’t think of any reason Ramasu would ask.

“Some of the other masters and I have noticed that you haven’t been spending as much time with His Highness and Varice recently,” Ramasu explained. “I know a lot has changed recently, so we wanted to make sure that everything is okay.”

A lot  _ had _ changed. Orzone was Heir Apparent to the Empire of Carthak now, his family dropping like flies in summer. It had changed Orzone in ways Arram didn’t like, but he was still Arram’s best friend. Very few things could change that.

The real reason Arram hadn’t been hanging around with Varice and Orzone was Thom. He still saw his friends during the school day, but most evenings were spent studying in comfortable silence with Thom. 

Once again, Arram felt himself flush a deep scarlet. “Everything’s fine,” he said, quickly looking away. It did little to hide the colour on his cheeks — something Arram was acutely aware of.

“Ah,” Ramasu replied calmly, an understanding lacing his tone. “My apologies Arram. I hope you and your partner keep enjoying your time together.”

“M-My  _ partner _ ,” Arram sputtered. “No, no it isn’t like that.” He didn’t think it would be possible for him to turn any more red than he was, but Arram could feel his face burning. “Besides, he’s- he’s a  _ boy. _ ”

Ramasu’s raised eyebrows were answer enough for  _ that _ statement.

“Not that that’s a bad thing!” Great Mother have mercy on his soul, Arram felt like he was about to keel over. “It’s just that I like girls.”

“Alright,” Ramasu conceded, his hands raised a little before he folded them into the sleeves of his robe. 

Arram let out a breath, trying to force his colouring back to normal.

“Although,” Ramasu continued, “I hope you do realize that one can be attracted to both men  _ and _ women.”

That got Arram’s attention. “Wait, really?” he asked, his genuine surprise showing through his tone. Was that true? Could he  _ like _ Thom? Not that it would matter anyway. Thom was from Tortall, that sort of thing wasn’t okay in the Eastern Lands — not like in Cathak anyways. 

“Just something to think about,” Ramasu said, smiling. “Good luck with your... friend, Arram.”

Arram left the room with a lot to think about.

* * *

The next morning, Arram had decided on one thing. He would not think about whatever possible attraction he may have toward Thom, and would instead put the Midwinter gift together as planned. Anything else, he could focus on  _ later. _

He started by picking up a soft linen bag, and a few cups of uncooked rice, before heading to the shop Ramasu had suggested. The rest of the gift was expensive, but Arram didn’t mind. Anything that could help Thom would be worth its weight in gold.

The shop was small, but full of scents originating from various plants. He recognized some of the names labeled on shelves, although the fragrances in the air were too muddled to make out.

He ended up buying a glass container full of a peppermint and rosemary based salve. It was good for migraines, the shopkeeper told him as he picked it out. Arram knew that much. He may not be in healing anymore, but he was still aware of some basic herbs and their uses. He also picked up a ginger candy meant for nausea. 

Perhaps the best purchase, although the most expensive one, was a poppy based tea. It also had willow bark and turmeric in it. Arram knew Thom would  _ hate _ it, and not just for the taste, but Thom needed something to help on days where the pain was so bad he could barely think. 

Back at the university, Arram poured the rice into the bag, along with a few sprigs of dried lavender — just enough to slightly scent the bag. Next, he sewed it closed with a strong backstitch. It may have been years since he’d learned sewing from his family back in Tyra, but some skills remained, even if they were a bit rusty. The stitches weren’t as clean as his mother’s would have been, but even as oddly spaced and lumpy as they were, Arram didn’t think Thom would particularly care.It could be heated over a fire or cooled in a cold box. 

With that made, he started packing the items away in a plain wooden box. The rice bag went first. Next went the salve, ginger candy, and tea. After that, Arram put some snacks in it that would keep. In careful lettering, Arram also wrote a note to attach to the gift.  _ It’s okay to need help sometimes. _

Was that too cheesy? Arram hoped not.  Thom valued his pride above all else, so he only willingly accepted help when he was too ill to feasibly refuse. Hopefully a small reminder would make that easier.

He set the gift aside with the rest to be delivered upon Midwinter. 

When the day came, Arram was nervous. Generally, he worried about whether people would like the gifts he had bought them, but this year was even worse. The box containing Thom’s gift felt like it mocked him from its spot under his bed, hidden amongst the rest of the presents for his friends. Would Thom even like it? Arram hoped it wouldn’t be taken as a slight against Thom’s ability. Maybe he should have just gotten him a book, but Thom  _ owned _ all the books he could possibly want. 

He gave each of his friends their gifts, and tried to ignore the way his anxiety built as the day went on. Arram had already decided Thom’s would be the last one he delivered, but that meant waiting hours until he was able to.

Finally, with his nervous energy near exploding, Arram headed over to Thom’s rooms. Most other people were busy on Midwinter, either visiting family or attending gatherings. Thom, like Arram, was a foreigner to Carthak. His family, if he had any, would be back in Tortall. 

He knocked before he lost his nerve.

Thom answered the door almost immediately. His red hair was a mess, as was typical for him, but he wore something other than pajamas; always a good sign. In the time since Arram had found out about Thom’s illness, he had come to use his friend’s clothing as a good marker for how Thom felt. If Thom wore sleeping clothes during the day, for example, it probably meant he wasn’t feeling well for any number of reasons. It was just another reason Arram was amazed he had never noticed Thom’s condition before — it wasn’t as if the man was particularly subtle about it.

“Arram,” he greeted, moving aside so Arram could enter the room. “What are you doing here?”

Arram entered, glancing around at the room. It was tidier than it had been in the past. With Arram’s help, Thom was managing to keep it relatively clean, although he was still scatterbrained enough that a mess tended to follow him when he was absorbed in his work.

“It’s Midwinter,” Arram said, holding the box in his arms. It wasn’t very big. 

Thom tilted his head. There was a glass paned window in the other room, spilling light through the open door. “Is it?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “Hm. I’ll never get used to the lack of snow.”

That made sense, Arram supposed. Thom had spent most of his life in Tortall, where it was snowy and cold — even colder than Tyran winters, which were mild thanks to The Great Inland Sea.

Clearing his throat, Arram awkwardly held out the box. Graveyard Hag give him luck. “I got you a gift.”

Thom just blinked for a moment. “I didn’t get you anything.” 

Arram smiled. “I didn’t expect you to, but I was getting all my friends gifts and well...” he trailed off and could feel his face flushing. Clearing his throat in an attempt to cover it, he continued, “I consider you a friend too.”

“Oh,” was all Thom said. He seemed... flustered? It was out of character for him. Even in his worst times Thom always seemed so put together, almost like he was above everybody else. 

He took the box when Arram offered it, and ran his hand along the edges, almost reverently. It was simple — a cinnamon stained maple, sanded and smoothed. It didn’t lock, but the lid fit nicely and lifted off.

Delicately, as if afraid of breaking it, Thom opened the box. His eyebrows creased as he looked at it, but he picked up the note first. Arram politely ignored the way Thom’s cheeks flushed upon reading it. 

Next, Thom began looking at each item and carefully reading the labels. Eventually, he looked at Arram with wide eyes.

Arram was bright red, looking anywhere but at Thom. “It’s okay if you hate it,” he said. “I just thought, you know, that it may help.” 

“I- I don’t know what to say,” Thom replied, his voice unsteady. “Thank you.” The sincerity in his tone was surprising, and Arram looked at him. Thom was leaning against the table, staring at the box and the items. It struck him how unusual Thom was acting.

“Are you okay?” Arram asked.

“Hm?” Thom replied, blinking a few times — a sign he was distracted by something else. “Oh. Yes.” He glanced at Arram, and blushed again before looking away. “I haven’t received a Midwinter gift since childhood,” he explained.

“Oh.” There wasn’t a lot Arram could say to that. 

Thom cleared his throat, and pushed himself away from the table. He headed into the other room, reaching to the bottom of a bookshelf next to the door. He came back with a leather bound tome in hand. 

“Here,” he held it out to Arram. “It's yours.”

Arram could have sworn his heart stopped. The book, which was indeed bound in leather, was in excellent condition. He hadn’t even known that Thom possessed such an item. The book was an original edition of Agayfa Chrysanthe’s Theory of Corporeality. To even find the most modern reprint was rare enough, but an unedited edition? It was practically unheard of. Arram had no idea how Thom even came  _ across _ a book like that.

“I can’t take this,” he said, scared to even touch the tome. 

Thom waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve already memorized everything in it, and took the necessary notes. At this point it’s only taking up space.”

Arram definitely didn’t believe that. How could a priceless book that laid the foundation for the theory of soul magic be taking up space? 

“Take it, please,” Thom said, reaching across the gap in space between them. He took Arram’s hand and placed it on the book. Touch was an uncommon occurrence between them. There was always a gap, a boundary in their relationship they wouldn’t cross. The only time they did was when Thom was ill. 

Arram’s throat was dry, but he accepted the gift nonetheless. 

Shit, he really did have a thing for Thom, didn’t he?

* * *

Two weeks later, Thom found himself reluctantly in a meeting of the university's teachers and researchers. It was long and arduous, and Thom desperately wished he was home. 

He’d never been a fan of crowds - an opinion based on years of exclusion. Back in Trebond, nobody ever wanted to play with the Lord’s creepy Gifted twins. At the City of the Gods he tried his hardest  _ not _ to form ties. Even at the Palace, the only person he regularly saw was Roger, which really wasn’t good for anyone’s mental health. 

He tapped his fingers against the folder in front of him, mind wandering from the voice of some Master Thom didn’t even bother learning the name of (those he actually associated with were few and far between).

That morning, he’d woken with a migraine a little worse than usual. It would have made the meeting a special kind of hell for him, had he needed to sit through it feeling like that. The gift Arram had gotten him — specifically the peppermint salve — was a miracle. It didn’t completely get rid of it - nothing did - but it helped take the edge off and push the pain back into the realm of bearable. 

Thom wasn’t sure what he had done for Arram to believe him worthy of such a gift, but it was so thoughtful that Thom didn’t know how to react. The only Midwinter gifts he had received since childhood were the odd one from his sister. 

His chest ached a little at the thought of Alanna. He hadn’t spoken to her in years, and doubted she would even know where to find him. Did she think him dead? He almost hoped so. It would be better for her if he simply didn’t exist anymore. 

The meeting concluded, and Thom gathered the few items he had: It was mostly a notebook to make it  _ look _ like he was paying attention, and the folder of information he’d been given concerning the next year's admissions. He was fully expecting the Head of the university to offer him a job teaching again, even though it sounded like pure torture. What lessons could he impart upon the students? He was barely older than most of them. Those who could benefit from his instruction the most were the ones with whom he shared the most similarities — the young, arrogant, and foolish — but Thom knew better. Students like himself would never learn from others' mistakes.

He wasn’t expecting Lindhall to stop him in the hallway, and pull him into a nearby empty classroom. Thom only raised his eyebrows. Lindhall had done a lot for him, but only at Myles’ request; there was no friendship between them. Even Myles only helped Thom out of love for Alanna. 

“You smell like peppermint,” Lindhall said in explanation, which really explained nothing at all.

“So?” Thom prompted, perhaps a little defensively. “Is there some rule against peppermint now?”

Lindhall gave him a knowing smile, which was a little odd to be pointed at Thom. “You know, Ramasu is a friend of mine.”

“Okay?” Thom really did not see the point to the conversation. “I’m glad you have friends?”

Lindhall sighed. “I only mean to say that Arram is almost seventeen. You’re only twenty-three and not a teacher. Even if you were to take up a position working with students it would be unlikely that you would end up teaching him. You specialize in magic very different from what Arram is interested in.”

That part at least was true. Thom worked in rituals — large, legendary feats of magic that took months to prepare. Arram didn’t have the patience for such work. Regardless, Thom could feel himself blushing.

“I’m not sure what Arram has to do with any of this,” he said, but the words sounded unconvincing even to his ears.

Lindhall only shrugged. “Maybe it's about time you let yourself be happy Thom.” He straightened his back. “Just a thought,” he said, before grabbing his bag and heading out the door.

Thom was left behind in the empty classroom, his face blushing deep red. Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there is part 2 of All We Lost in the Fight to Protect it. I hope you enjoyed! I've gotta be honest, I have no idea if I got Ramasu's character even close to correct. He was a plot device, and I haven't read Tempest and Slaughter for a few years now. So if he was totally off base, sorry about that.


End file.
